


Beacon Fire

by wrennette



Series: Trashpile: A Compendium of Unfinished Fics [4]
Category: Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, M/M, Post-Canon, archiving old words, reformatted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 12:46:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11059263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: In Atlantis, Hank and Francisco celebrate new discoveries, a new life together, and hope for the new world.





	Beacon Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Recognizable characters are the property of Ayn Rand and her estate, not the author. The author makes no profit.
> 
> Bits of this are lifted/reused from [Copper & Steel](http://archiveofourown.org/series/318659), a pair of drabbles I wrote also set in Atlantis after the fall.
> 
> Reformatted from a chapter in a multifandom work to stand alone.

Francisco traced Hank's silhouette against the full moon, picking out his profile like a president on a new minted coin. The satisfaction of a day full of accomplishment was settled deep in his bones, and as he approached, he could see a mirrored look of contentment on Hank's face. The wan moonlight cast Hank in shades of silver, his steel grey hair and smooth pale skin and crystal pale eyes. Francisco felt his smile change to one of lust and possession, and Hank returned the expression, turning his back on the moon.

"Good day?" Hank asked, although he didn't need to, he could read the satisfaction Francisco felt on his handsome face. Francisco just smiled, knowing he didn't need to answer, and then they were kissing, mouths melting together. Francisco grinned as he felt Hank's strong hands twist into the curls on the crown of his head, slipping his mouth away just slightly. 

"I have something for you," Francisco said, and Hank released him, hands still skimming the curve of Francisco's shoulders, unwilling to let him go entirely. Francisco smiled, then reached into his pocket. Holding his palm between them, he displayed a lump of gleaming metal.

"That's not copper," Hank said, poking at the cool metal, and Francisco grinned. 

"No," he admitted. "I'm trying for a better conductor, something to speed up signaling, make telephone calls clearer." Hank nodded, plucking the lump of metal up with two fingers. 

"And this?" Hank asked, and Francisco's grin widened. 

"This is your sample," Francisco said. "I want your opinion on it. Subject it to any test you can think of, you know I can pay you for it." Hank grinned, slipping the ingot into his pocket. 

"I'll send you the bill," Hank said, then pulled Francisco back into his arms, kissing him deeply. "I think this calls for a celebration," he said softly, and Francisco smiled warmly.

Together, the heads of Reardon Steel and d'Anconia Copper walked into their house. Hank sent Francisco to sprawl idly on the plush divan in front of the fire, turning aside to the kitchen. When he joined Francisco a few moments later, Hank had taken off his suit coat and tie, loosened his collar and rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were tanned bronze after a few months of work in the valley, corded with hard earned musculature. 

In one big, rough hand Hank cradled two impossibly fragile champagne glasses, the other hand grasping the neck of a bottle of expensive bubbly. Francisco grinned from where he sat languidly, reaching up to slowly pull off his own tie and flick open the collar of his crisp white shirt. He tracked Hank's pale eyes, saw them settle at the hollow of his throat, and then the tip of Hank's pink tongue darted out, wetting his thin lips. Hank tore his eyes from the little v of golden skin at the neck of Francisco's shirt, smiling at the banked heat in his lover's dark eyes. He crossed to Francisco, settled at his side. 

"To d'Anconia Metal," Hank said roughly, then pressed this thumb against the bulb of the cork and sent it rocketing up towards the ceiling. Cool sparkling wine frothed over Hank's hand, and he carefully poured them each a glass full of the champagne. 

"To d'Anconia Metal," Francisco echoed with a smirk, taking one of the glasses from Hank and raising it in toast. Hank raised his glass as well, and then they were drinking, smiling at one another across the rims of the bowl-like glasses. Setting his glass down, Francisco reached up, curled his hand around the nape of Hank's neck and tugged him down, kissing him slow and deep, tasting the bite and sparkle of the wine in his warm mouth.

Hank hurriedly put his glass down as well, hands fisting into Francisco's white shirt. He deepened the kiss, shifting so he reclined on his side, a bare millimeter of space between his body and Francisco's. 

"Let's finish the champagne," Hank breathed raggedly when they finished. "Then we can celebrate properly." Francisco's eyes flared with hunger, and he leaned up to kiss Hank again. 

"We can afford more champagne," Francisco growled when they parted, rolling them so he was straddling Hank's thighs then grinding roughly against him. Hank groaned softly in pleasure, acquiescing gladly, because although he hated waste, he would rather buy more champagne than miss any chance to be with his lover. Francisco pressed lush kisses to his mouth, their tongues twining together sensually. 

"It's your night," Hank said gruffly when Francisco pulled away a bit. "Anything you want, it's yours." Francisco smiled lewdly, leaning down to kiss Hank again, then standing. 

"Get up," Francisco said lowly, and with a low groan, Hank complied. Francisco sat back down, sprawling on the sofa. 

"Strip," Francisco ordered lowly. "Slowly." Hank smiled in response, deft fingers moving carefully over the little buttons of his shirt. Parting the crisp cotton, he shrugged out of it, the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms standing out as he let the shirt fall to the floor. His undershirt hugged his well built chest and flat stomach, tucked neatly into his well-made trousers. He popped the button of his fly next, easing the wool waistband down over the growing bulge in his silky shorts. Francisco palmed himself, eyes dropping to half mast as Hank slowly pushed up the hem of his undershirt. 

Hank grinned at the hungry look on Francisco's face, easing his undershirt up and off. His well built upper body laid bare, Hank looked more like a laborer than a business magnate. Just as slowly, Hank pushed his shorts down past his hips, turning and bending at the waist to step out of the shorts and pick them up. When he turned back with a lewd smile, Francisco had his own trousers open, his hand stroking slowly up and down his rigid erection. 

"Come here," Francisco urged, and Hank knew exactly what his lover wanted. Closing the distance between them, Hank gracefully went to his knees between Francisco's spread thighs. Leaning in, he knocked away Francisco's hand, then pulled the cock up out of Francisco's shorts. 

"Si," Francisco murmured, his bronze fingers tangling in Hank's steel grey hair, and Hank obliged, sucking Francisco into his mouth. Francisco let out a low moan of pleasure, his hand clenching against Hank's skull, pressing him down further. Hank went without complaint, glad to give his lover this pleasure, proud of his ability to make Francisco lose control. Soon Francisco's hips jerked up rhythmlessly, pumping his cock into Hank's mouth. Hank opened his throat and swallowed around him, and Francisco came with a soft Spanish curse. 

Sated for now, Francisco relaxed back into the couch, and Hank stood, a smug look on his face even as he wiped his bruised mouth with the back of his hand. Francisco laughed delightedly, standing and quickly, unashamedly stripping out of his clothes. He left the expensive garments crumpled on the floor, he had others, had the money to buy a whole suit factory twelve times over if he wanted, but right now what he wanted was Hank mussed and panting with need in their bed. So he took Hank by the hand, and Hank knew what he wanted as well. Grinning happily at one another they went into their room. 

Hank sprawled across the massive bed, the smooth Egyptian cotton of the sheets crinkling under his shoulders. He spread his legs invitingly, and Francisco settled between his thighs, leaning in to kiss his slow and deep, his warm hand splaying across Hank's chest. Hank pressed up just enough that he could feel the tensile strength of Francisco's upper body signaling down through his arm like a message through a telegraph wire, and then Francisco's full weight was pinning him. The kiss turned hotter, Francisco's tongue sweeping more insistently into Hank's mouth, and soon Hank's control was slipping tenuously through his grasp, Francisco's devilishly hot mouth driving him to distraction. 

"Francisco," Hank gasped, fingers twining in his lover's hair. "Francisco, please." His surrender had nothing to do with being conquered, and Francisco knew this, was perfectly willing to accept the gift that Hank offered. Kneeling up, Francisco quickly located a vial of sweet oil. He drizzled the viscous liquid over his fingers, gently nudged them at Hank's entrance. Hank took a deep, steadying breath, forcing his body to relax, and then Francisco was able to press inside, working his fingers against the tight sheath of Hank's muscles. Slowly Hank loosened, and Francisco worked more oil into him until four fingers slipped easily inside. 

"Francisco," Hank said again, and this time his voice was low and rough with wanting. Francisco had recovered himself, and he pulled back slightly, smiling gently and a bit smugly. Any other time, such a self satisfied expression would draw an answering laugh from Hank, but at the moment Hank was occupied with other things.


End file.
